


you should see me in a crown

by gummyconcrete (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, How It Should’ve Been: With Female Characters, Strong Female Characters, strong konan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gummyconcrete
Summary: In the dim of a cave, Konan’s life shatters.Her life’s work, futile. The fatal cavalry line and attack parallels she drew across the rainy plains of Iwa, stretching over the dunes of Suna—all to dust.She stares at the boy, the cause of all her problems, and with all the pain and hatred she has in her—oh, and she has a lot—she glares, glowers, simmers, and steams, anger barely bottled in her as she quakes and quivers and convulses.
Kudos: 12





	you should see me in a crown

**Author's Note:**

> i liver kishimoto but if u have a lot of male characters rebelling and switching there minds like 2341 times (lookin @ u sasuke) then i’m sorry, uh. konan will not just be like “uh sure lol” whenever magato switches

**i’m gonna make ’em bow.**  
_count my cards, watch them fall._  
_(one by, one by—one.)_

.  
.  
.

 **(king/spades)**  
(blood on a marble wall,)  
(i like the way they all—scream.)

  
It’s exhilarating. 

The sound of her nin boots raking the soil as she walked slowly, and the soft rustling of papers around her.

The bloodlust raging war in her mind, the thirst for battle whirring in her thundering heart.

The feel of the nameless shinobi’s flak jacket scrunched and held in her bruising grasp, the weight being braced on her hand as she lifted him off the ground.

But the best, most exhilarating part of it all—is the helpless, bloodcurdling shriek he makes when her paper engulfs him and swallows him whole, squeezing the life out of him. The organs oozing out the wounds on his stomach. The blood seeping into the soil.

And the whimper he made in his last breaths.

She salvaged every curse, every groan, every plea for mercy, every shout of pain—she savoured it, relished it.

.  
.  
.

 **(jack/hearts)**  
(visions i vandalize,)  
(cold in my kingdom size,)  
(fell for those ocean eyes.)

  
His eyes glint in the ambient light of the cave. The cave where Nagato had performed the ritual where Yahiko's body was transformed into a lifeless rag doll, one with Nagato controlling him from the shadows.

Like it was one of a ninja puppeteer’s toys.

A pair of bottomless eyes, lilac and emblazoned with ripples. Steeled pupils of purple stare at her blankly, as she tries to search for—

As she tries to search for Yahiko, the very man Nagato was possessing. The very man the eyes had taken, destroyed, and—and—stolen from her.

The puppet tilts its head, question indicated in the gesture, but nothing but uncanny suspicion reflected in the eyes. “Konan?” The voice is impersonal, cold. 

“Nothing,” she says, her golden eyes still searching for the man she loved; “Nothing.”

.  
.  
.

 **(two/hearts)**  
(bite my tongue, bide my time,)  
(wearing a warning sign.)

She doesn’t talk to the puppet about anything accept orders.

Or to anybody, really. With the shift in dynamics of her team, she just looks at them with a stoic pair of lips, judging, and watching.

Especially Itachi Uchiha. A man who slaughtered his kin and tortured his brother. She finds something weird about that man. A strange tired softness to his dark, dark eyes.

In those pools of obsidian, she sees something else bleeds through.

When Hidan places his hand on her shoulder in a pathetic attempt to flirt, she tears her gaze from the Uchiha and glares at the follower of Jashin intensely.

She spends most of her time in her room, a notebook and a map splayed out. Pins penetrate the five main targets. Battle lines flow through ocean and land, like arteries. 

War plans take form in her mind.

And people all around her whisper—“she’s different, no?” “quite curious, that’s what she is.”— and she knows, oh, she _knows_ what they mean.

_She’s insane._

  
.  
.  
.

 **(queen/clubs)**  
(tell me which one is worse—)  
(living or dying first?)

In the dim of a cave, Konan’s life shatters. 

Her life’s work, futile. The fatal cavalry line and attack parallels she drew across the rainy plains of Iwa, stretching over the dunes of Suna—all to dust.

She stares at the boy, the cause of all her problems, and with all the pain and hatred she has in her—oh, and she has a lot—she glares, glowers, simmers, and steams, anger barely bottled in her as she quakes and quivers and convulses.

For the first time, her emotions are clear as day, and her stagnant lips curl into a sneer, nose wrinkling and golden eyes molten with hate.

“No,” she whispers, voice deep and dark and vile and angry. 

“No,” she echoes, and her voice is heavy with hate, hate, hate; but so light with the freedom she feels.

She turns, Akatsuki cloak billowing at the sudden jerk of her person, flash stepping behind Nagato, bringing her hands around his neck, and her papers rush at once, gobbling him whole.

As the papers close around his neck, he asks, voice frail and dry, “Why…?”

“Because,” Konan growls, “you killed Nagato.”

His stupid rinnegan eyes widen as the papers close around his face, biting into his skin and squeezing him till he stopped twitching. She peels off two papers, revealing his eyeballs—which had popped out his sockets—and she took them in her palms, staring at the heavenly All Mighty Power she held in her hands. 

All that power, she thinks, from two fucking eyeballs. 

She turns back to Naruto, the blustery blond, meeting his eyes lazily. “You wanna fight?”

He opens his mouth and two paper planes fly right into his mouth. He splutters. 

“Shut your trap,” she says, eyes burning, and she storms out of the place. 

.  
.  
.

 **(king/hearts)**  
(you should see me in a crown,)  
(gonna run this nothing town,)  
(gonna make ’em bow.)

She should’ve been done with the shinobi world.

She almost believes it, because she spends time at an inn, sleeping and watching Icha Icha tactics, till she is able to contact a landlord. She shifts into a flat, amongst a sea of apartments floors and blocks. 

She loves for at least a month, and time passes by languidly, for the first week.

But then in gets—boring. There’s no thrill, no adrenaline, no harsh breathing, no hammering hearts, no blood on her fingers—

It’s all boring. 

So she seeks it out again.

Her original plan was to bind her chakra and hide the eyes and lay low in civilian life.

But now, she stares at the pair of rinnegan, considering. She pulls out those maps, again, and her notes.

From the bingo book, she strikes through all the people that had died in the Pain Attack, the very people Nagato wished to revive. A smile blooms across her face as she crosses out Hatake Kakashi of the Sharingan.

She trains, and from crappy two-minute noodles, she switches her diet back to mutton and chicken and leafy greens and fibers.

She practices, practices, practices. She focuses on taijutsu, trying to not utilize her chakra. The reads about genjutsu and the Mangekyou Sharingan, practices agility. 

.  
.  
.

(queen/spades)  
(you say,)  
(come over baby;)  
(i think you’re pretty…)

So when Madara arrives in his swirling orange mask, one eye to behold, she’s more than ready.

And she has the rinnegan.

**Author's Note:**

> just had to write thing(๑>◡<๑)


End file.
